Steps
by MooseOnARoof
Summary: The first steps are always the most difficult but usually the most important. H/W friendship. Set post 6.06 'Brave Heart'. One shot


_A/N Inspired by __**blackmare**__'s _**Strategies in Real Estate **_which I urge you to read._

_The first step is always the hardest one but is usually the most important. H/W friendship_

_Read and enjoy :)_

_Disclaimer: I don't know own da folk  
_

* * *

You get up just as the sun rises as usual even though it's your day off, a force of habit that you struggle to break free of regardless of how tired you are. House isn't awake yet so you carefully pad into the kitchen avoiding the creaky floorboard just outside your bedroom door.

It's too early in the day for a coffee so a cup of tea will suffice. You flick on the cordless kettle to boil the water before feeling a urge to go to the bathroom.

A grimace flashes onto your face as you pass the bedroom. House had groaned, not a painful groan, a pleasurable groan of a man having a good time. It was the second time you had caught him in the most carnal fashion in a matter of days. Shuddering those thoughts away you make your way into the bathroom.

Your exhausted which means your aim is probably way off. To save on the cleaning and your energy you decide to pee sitting down. Standing up is just too much effort. Resting your face onto your hand you close your eyes and drift into a half-sleep, not registering the familiar sound of a rubber bottomed cane connecting with the wooden floor.

Before you know it the bathroom door is flung open and you jerk in shock.

"You could have least have locked the door." House stated as a matter-of-factly.

You brush your hair back into place with your hand before realising your pants are still around your ankles. "Uh...I-I must have feel asleep"

"Obviously." House gestures for you to get up. "Come on I need to pee too."

"Can I at least have some privacy to pull my pants up?" You know he is going to come back with some witty retort. House never passes the chance to make a sexual joke.

But to your surprise it doesn't happen.

"Okay." He leaves the bathroom and pulls the door shut behind him.

_Okay?_ You scramble your pants on properly before leaving the bathroom leaving House to take your place.

The water in the kettle is cold again so you flick the switch to reheat it. Out of courtesy you pour House a cup and your careful not to contaminate his with any sugar as you pour four tablespoons into yours.

House takes his seat on the couch as you hand over his cup of tea. You can see him rubbing his thigh as he gently rests his leg into the coffee table. His pain looks bad this morning.

"Did you have a good night's sleep?" You sip your tea a little too quickly and end up with a mouth of burning hot water which you promptly spit back into the cup.

"Mm-mm." That was a 'no' then.

You can see the dark circles and bags that encased his eyes. You wonder what kept him up last night to make him look so rough this morning. You hadn't talked to Amber last night so there was no whispers echoing in his room and you know he had bought a pair of earplugs to combat that problem. His leg pain perhaps, an uncomfortable mattress or lumpy pillows.

Who are you kidding? You know why. It's that room, it's those pictures, it's those personal items displayed everywhere. House had told you this already, that he found it hard sleeping in that room with all her stuff around but you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

You're scared to lose her. Scared that if you remove those pictures that you'll forget about her. That they'll just become another box of stuff in your ever expanding collection in storage.

"I'm going to work."

You awaken from your daze to House's voice and to find yourself absent-mindedly running your fingers around the rim of your cup. "Oh. Um. Okay. I'll see you tonight then."

"Sure. Oh and by the way that tea was awful."

"Thanks." You crack a smile as House shuts the door.

* * *

You keep thinking about that look on House's face as he sat on the couch. A potent mix of fatigue and guilt that was etched all over his middle aged features and a mix that is etched over yours for very different reasons.

What kind of man makes his friend, his mentally fragile friend, sleep in a room full of items belonging to his dead girlfriend?

A fuck up that's who. You slam a mug into the sink, smashing the handle, creating a white dust that coats the side of the bowl.

You can't explain yourself. You don't understand why this always happens. You don't understand why every time you try to help House with the best intentions you end up making things worse.

You offer him a place to stay yet he either has to sleep on the couch or in a room full of bad memories. You always want the best for him yet you always fear the worst of him.

You leave the washing, you've already broken one mug and you don't want to break another.

* * *

Sitting the bedroom you can understand why House hates sleeping in here. It's cold. It's dark.

You remember the first time you slept in here after Amber died. You spent most of the night crying as the homely scent of her perfume floated up from her side of the bed. It was painful, exhausting and heartbreaking and since then you hadn't touched a thing in this room. The certificates were still hanging in place, the pictures still cluttering the tops of the drawers. Her clothes were gone but her jewellery and hairbrush still lay in the drawers.

You lie back onto the bed and intertwine your fingers around the back of your head.

Now you see what House sees. Amber's eyes boring at you from all different angles. From the left, under the table lamp. From the front, on top of the drawers. It's unnerving and overwhelmingly. No wonder House can't focus his mind on sleep.

Grabbing the picture on under the table lamp, you sit up on the bed and cross your legs. She looks beautiful with the always present knitted red scarf tied loosely around her neck and her soft, natural smile.

The tears come easy as you plead with her to tell you what to do. She was always good at shaking you out of your self-pity and giving healthy reassurances. You knew nothing would come but it felt better to try. Clasping the picture to your chest, your head falls forward as you draw gasping sobs.

You compose yourself and place the picture on the bed.

"I thought this would be good for both of us. Me and House." You know this is weird. You're talking to a picture but...god you need this. "He needs someone to look after him for a little while, you know, be there and support him. He told me he's not ready to go to his apartment which is fair enough I guess. And I..." You pause. You're finding hard to talk about this even when nobody is around. "...I'm... lonely." You sigh heavily like a great weight has been removed from somewhere. "I miss you. I hated walking around here on my own. I thought maybe...man this sounds lame. Maybe having House around would make it better. I'd have someone to talk to. But I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know if I'm making things worse. I don't know what to do. I've already lost you. I don't want to lose him."

There is no reply, just that same warm smile staring back at you.

* * *

It dawns on you as you're placing the picture back onto the night stand, that you need this as much as House does. You've lost Amber. She's beyond help, but House is still here. You can't move on until you know House has and you know that House can't move on until he knows you have.

You are both as bad as each other.

But you know one of you has to take a step. House had already made an effort by checking himself into Mayfield. It was your turn now.

In your bedroom you pull out a flatten cardboard box from when you had first moved in and popped the edges out. You tape the bottom twice over to make sure it is sturdy enough to take the weight before taking it into the spare bedroom.

Perching yourself on the end of the bed, you rub your eyes. You convince yourself that this _was _the right thing to do. It is beneficial for both of you and it was something you should have done a while ago. You drop the box onto the bed and pick the photo up from the night stand.

You know you'll never forget her but it's still hard to let go of the frame as you place it into the bottom of the box.

* * *

It was around eight thirty when House arrived back from the hospital. You're sitting with your legs up on the couch but you quickly move them to make way for your limping room mate. He flops down next to you and groans ridiculously loudly.

"Good day?" You stuff several potato chips in your mouth.

"If you call sitting on your ass watching Foreman bark orders all day good then yes I have a very good day indeed." You offer a potato chip which House duly takes. "He's worse than me."

"I find that hard to believe. He just hasn't got that cruel edge that you possess."

"But that's what makes me entertaining. He's just rude."

You laugh before lifting a carton from the side of the chair. "I saved you some Chinese food. It'll probably need heating up but it's your favourite."

"I love you man."

House whips the carton from your grasp and hobbles to the kitchen. You flick the TV channel onto something a little more to his taste. The New Yankee Workshop is on, something you know that House loves and that you like although you don't admit it.

Your head feels like lead by the time the TV marathon is finished. House informs you there is another two hours on after this but you know your mind can't take. "I think I'll give it a miss."

"Your loss. I'll be the one laughing when this guy hacks his own arm off."

"I'm sure it will be enthralling stuff but I'm going to bed." You pick your watch off the table. "Goodnight House."

"Night Wilson."

* * *

Two hours you've been lying here and you can't get to sleep. You heard House go into his room about five minutes ago but nothing since. You wonder if he has noticed the changes at all or if he is okay with it all and with you being the way you are, you won't be able to sleep until you know the answers.

Then you hear it. The noise of cane meeting floor clunking its way to your bedroom. Then strange scrunching noises followed by the sound of House gently cursing under his breath. You're tense, lying poker straight in your bed, squeezing the blanket, trying to be as silent as possible.

You hear him clunk his way back to his room before getting up and switching the light on. He's slipped something under your door.

You smile as you unfurl the ragged piece of paper in your hand.

Two simple words told you all the answers to your questions. _Thank you_.

You folded the paper carefully and slip it onto the night stand before climbing back into bed.

* * *


End file.
